


Open-Ended

by colazitron



Series: 2018 December Holiday Fic Countdown [9]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Niccolò cooks again, Post Season 2, Recreational Drug Use, but he uses a recipe this time all is well, intercrural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: Marti comes over to spend finally spend those three days in Niccolò's bed that he promised.





	Open-Ended

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the characters herein or their creators. I made this all up and am sharing it or fun.
> 
>  **A/N:** This is for anon who wanted high sex or intercrural for Martino and Niccolò, and clearly the answer to that was "why not both?". Um. Hi. I'm new here.

“You're sure it's okay with your parents that I'm here?” Marti asks, hovering in the doorway to the flat a little awkwardly.

Niccolò rolls his eyes and huffs an impatient but amused breath.

“My parents aren't even home,” he says. “I told you they always go away for New Year's.”

“That doesn't really answer my question,” Marti mumbles, but he comes inside at least, which means Niccolò can finally close the door on the cold that's been seeping in from the hallway. Niccolò knows that it still stings, the way his parents first reacted to Marti; the rejection and the way they blamed Marti for Niccolò's little Milan adventure. He knows Marti felt the full weight of that every time he tried to reintroduce Marti to his parents.

He also knows that his parents are coming around, that seeing the way Niccolò's not changing his mind about Marti, the way he's now calm and settled and still just as in love with Marti has made them realise how badly they misjudged the situation, but Marti is still distrustful. And Niccolò doesn't blame him for it. It's certainly a stark contrast to the warm hug Alice had given him the first time he came over to meet Marti's mother.

“What, no kiss for me?” Niccolò teases when Marti just sets his bag down gently so he can hang his jacket up and then leans down to undo the laces on his shoes.

Marti shoots him an amused look, but he straightens back up and leans in, a hand on Niccolò's shoulder and a smile on his lips, for a sweet kiss hello.

Niccolò still isn' used to how that thrills him, how just the touch of Marti's soft, warm lips makes him grin so hard, makes the butterflies in his belly go absolutely wild.

“Hey, you,” he says and pinches Marti's cheek when he pulls back.

Marti bats his hand away with a face that tries to be annoyed but barely manages to conceal his glee, so Niccolò bops him on the nose too. It's just so adorable how Marti always wrinkles his nose in response like he's trying to shake the weird feeling left by the touch.

“Are you done?” Marti asks, and then leans back down to undo his shoe laces and slip out of them.

Niccolò puts his hands behind his back and rocks back and forth from his heels to the tips of his toes.

It's December 30th.

Alice has gone to stay with her sister again, and Marti's dad is doing something with Paola and her son that Marti isn't particularly interested in but probably going to show up at for a little while because the little boy seems to have some sort of hero-worship going on for him and Marti is kind of the softest person Niccolò has ever met.

Niccolò's own parents are on their habitual New Year's get away. They're in Paris, this year, which sounds like a great place to go, but currently Niccolò can't think of a better place to be than his bed that Marti has promised to move into for the next three days. Niccolò tries not to think of it as a do-over, but… that's sort of what it is.

They're going to see some of Marti's friends tomorrow, and his dad, but for tonight – Marti is all his.

Niccolò looked up an actual recipe and made sure to follow it meticulously – no vegan sausages or tabasco in sight – and so the lasagna is sizzling away in the oven. And it smells amazing if he does say so himself. There's something… _greener_ stashed away in his room, and Niccolò is determined that they're just going to have a good time tonight. Whatever Marti wants to do.

“Did you cook?” Marti asks, slightly suspiciously when he finally picks up his bag and follows Niccolò to his bedroom.

“I did,” Niccolò announces proudly and twists to look back over his shoulder and waggle his eyebrows at Marti.

“It smells great,” Marti says, a little cautiously.

“I made lasagna,” Niccolò says. “I promise I didn't put any honey in.”

Marti laughs and sets his duffle down by Niccolò's bed before sitting down on the edge of it, looking up at Niccolò.

“Is it almost ready?” he asks.

“Are you hungry?” Niccolò asks back. It is almost dinner time.

Marti grins.

“Not as such. I just want to know how much longer it needs to be in the oven.”

Niccolò feels his own answering grin split his face and pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

“About fifteen minutes,” he says.

Marti hums and then hooks his fingers into the pockets of Niccolò's jeans, pulling him closer until he stands in between Marti's parted knees. Niccolò can already feel his breath come more quickly. Marti has gotten a lot more self-assured in the past two weeks and it keeps throwing Niccolò for loops.

He loves it.

“What are we going to do until then?” Marti asks, looking up through his eyelashes and the fluffy fringe of his beautiful hair.

Niccolò's heartbeat trips over itself. He's already leaning down to meet Marti in the kiss he's clearly angling for when he responds.

“I've got something hidden away in the ukulele if you want.”

Marti laughs into his mouth and kisses him, all open lips and warmth and hint of his tongue coming out to trace Niccolò's lips. He hums into it, pleased and then smiles as they part again.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” he says. “You did already make food for when the munchies set in.”

Niccolò smiles and then straightens up, grabbing his ukulele from the shelf and then the lighter from the desk. Marti watches him loosen the strings with an amused grin and then flops back onto the bed, making himself at home, wedging one of the pillows underneath his head and fluffing it up to his preferred fluffiness.

Niccolò rolls the blunt quickly and lights it, taking the first drag before he crawls over to lie by Marti's side.

“I'm glad you came over,” he says as he hands the blunt over.

Marti looks at him with even more amusement.

“Yes, it's a terribly great sacrifice I'm making,” he drawls. “Spending three days with my boyfriend – who cooks for me and tells me I'm pretty and lets me smoke his weed...”

Niccolò grins at him.

“I haven't told you you're pretty.”

Marti seems unconcerned and shrugs.

“Yet,” he teases and then takes a deep drag of the joint himself.

Niccolò laughs, because Marti does have a point, and watches him exhale the smoke up towards the ceiling.

They pass the joint back and forth until the alarm on Niccolò's phone goes off and he scurries away to the kitchen to turn off the oven and take the lasagna out. The last thing he needs is to accidentally burn down the flat while he's getting high with Marti. All the good-will his parents have built up would be gone in a second.

Ha.

It'd go up in smoke.

Anyway.

He makes sure the oven is off, the lasagna is safe, and then returns to Marti, who's just stubbing out the last bit of the joint in Niccolò's ash tray.

“You didn't wait for me,” he pouts and climbs back onto the bed.

Marti grins and shrugs, but pulls on Niccolò's arm so he comes to hover over Marti instead of lying next to him.

“You took too long,” he says and then pulls Niccolò down into another kiss by the back of his neck.

Niccolò doesn't think he's ever going to tire of this – the way it feels to kiss Marti. The way they can kiss lazily or hurriedly and he'll love it either way. Whether it's chaste kisses hello and goodbye or full-on tongues-in-throats making out – it's all good. Everything with Marti is so good.

Right now, Marti is moaning into his mouth and Niccolò feels the sounds spark off his skin, prickle at the back of his neck, the base of his spine. Light a spark in his belly and race over his nerves, making him tingle all over. He kisses Marti, over and over, until he needs to take a moment to breathe, and even then he just swallows a lungful of air and dives down to attach his mouth to Marti's neck.

“Ni, oh fuck. Nico,” Marti pants above him, hands moving up from where he'd held on to Niccolò's waist to tangle in his hair.

Niccolò hums and brings his own hands up to undo the buttons on Marti's shirt, following the path of his newly revealed skin with his mouth.

“Nico,” Marti sighs, but not like he's really trying to get his attention. Just the way he does because he likes saying it. That works out fine anyway, because Niccolò loves hearing it; the way Marti's voice goes breathless and pleasure-drunk when Niccolò puts his mouth on his nipples, the way he twitches and grabs him tighter like he can feel that touch everywhere in his body.

They haven't done this super much, but they've done it enough that Niccolò has learned a trick or two to Marti's body, is starting to build a roadmap of all the places Marti especially likes being touched and kissed. With his mind a little extra hazy he's not sure he's going to get much data today, but he doesn't care. So long as Marti feels good, he doesn't care about much else.

When Niccolò gets to Marti's belly button, Marti sits up, muscles tightening under Niccolò's mouth, just enough to pull his shirt off and lie back down. Niccolò takes a moment to admire him and then follows suit, throwing his sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath it off hurriedly.

“Come kiss me again,” Marti says, arms wide open for Niccolò to sink right back into his embrace and do just that.

He loses track of time with his lips pressed to Marti's, their chests pressed together, legs tangled. He can feel Marti breathe underneath him, can feel his pulse race when he dances careful fingers over the side of his neck. Can feel his dick hard in his jeans where their hips are pressed together.

At some point, one of Marti's hands strokes down over the line of Niccolò's back and slips into the back pocket of his jeans, squeezes at his ass through the fabric and stays there, pressing them close together so they can rock into each other, half tease and half relief. Niccolò grins into their kiss and then brings one of his own hands down to grab Marti's thigh, pull it up against his own hip so Marti can put his leg around him and give him more room to press them together.

“Ni,” Marti pants. “Ni. Nico. Come on, Ni, take them off.”

Niccolò bites his way into the next kiss, nipping at Marti's lips and soothing the sting with his tongue, a little wet and messy, but making Marti laugh breathlessly and moan when he rocks against him again.

“Wanna fuck your thighs,” he says into Marti's mouth and kisses him again before he can answer.

But Marti moans and kisses back, and then, when he pulls back to breathe, he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want-- I want that.”

They scramble apart and out of their clothes clumsily, laughing at each other and themselves, but it still feels like barely any time passes before they press close together again, naked and flushed and Niccolò's so hard it's becoming difficult to think of anything else.

He rolls Marti onto his front gently and presses kisses to the visible knobs of his spine, between his shoulder blades. Marti rubs his face against the duvet underneath him and bites his lip, turns his face sideway so he can look back over his shoulder a little and Niccolò has to move up to kiss him on the cheek, on the corner of his mouth.

“Sure?” he asks quickly and reaches over to fumble for the lube in his bedside drawer blindly.

Marti nods underneath him.

“Yeah.”

Niccolò doesn't stall after that, wets his dick with the lube and slips it in between Marti's thighs, right at the very top of them where his balls hang heavy and his skin is hottest. Marti cants his hips back to give him better access, and Niccolò leans forward over him, covers his back with his chest and kisses the jut of his shoulder blades under his skin, freckles speckled all over them still like paint. Niccolò doesn't know how long it'd take to count them, but he almost feels like maybe he could do it. Just sit and stare at Marti for hours and hours and catalogue each little mark on his body, every single thing that makes him who he is, makes him so remarkable.

Each one of Niccolò's thrusts down pushes Marti's dick against the duvet of Niccolò's bed, and he should probably care about that, about the mess they're undoubtedly making, but he just can't bring himself to. He's too caught up in Marti's skin and his sounds, in the way he brings a hand around to where Niccolò's bracing himself on the bed and covers it with his own, wriggles his fingers in between Niccolò's and holds on.

It feels so good.

It's hot and tight and slick and smooth and easy. Marti pushes back against him and ruts down into the bed, and Niccolò can feel the movement of his hips, the slightly jerky jumps when something feels really good, the swell of his ass against Niccolò's pelvis and hips.

“Feels good,” he moans, mouth hot and damp on Marti's back, and Marti groans and nods.

“Gonna come, Ni,” he says, a whine to his voice that Niccolò is starting to recognise and makes him tug his hand free and grip Marti's hips harder, use them to grind him down against the bed harder.

Marti makes a startled sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and then his hands go tight in the duvet, pulling at it as his voice drives itself up higher, sharp gasps of pleasure that accompany the small, sharp jerks of hips.

Niccolò can feel his own orgasm tingle at the base of his spine too, pull him forward more roughly, pushing against Marti's body with a single-minded focus. He can feel it when Marti tenses his thighs, crosses his ankles and presses his legs together as tightly as he can, and it doesn't take much after that before he follows Marti over that cliff, drowns in waves of pleasure for a few blissful moments before he comes back up, panting against Marti's back.

Marti reaches back for him, rubbing his hand against Niccolò's side until Niccolò grabs it and presses a kiss to his knuckles. He sees Marti smile against the duvet and drops his hand, dives forward to kiss the corner of that smile, still tucked up close to his back.

“We ruined your bed,” Marti says, his voice a little rougher and lower than usual.

It sends a shiver down Niccolò's spine and he kisses Marti again.

“Doesn't matter. We'll just put a clean one on and fix it tomorrow,” he says. “Now, how about some lasagna?”

Marti hums and then shuffles around, twists underneath Niccolò until he's on his back again so he can look up at him. His face is a little flushed and his eyes glitter with fulfilled pleasure.

Niccolò beams down at him and Marti smiles back.

“Okay,” he says. “Let's go eat.”

Since the duvet is already ruined, Niccolò uses it to wipe them off and then grabs their underwear from the floor, flinging Marti's at his haphazardly. Then he slips on his own and his t-shirt, handing the sweatshirt over to Marti as well. All those buttons just seem like a hassle right now.

Marti kisses him sweetly and laughs quietly when Niccolò twines their fingers together to lead him to the kitchen.

“We should shower at some point,” he points out.

“Sure,” Niccolò agrees. “We'll shower. First we'll eat, then we'll shower, put on some new clothes, make the bed, maybe watch something?”

He grins when he looks over at Marti, and Marti grins back, bumping their shoulders together.

“Sounds perfect.”

Niccolò leans in, and they kiss.

They get a little distracted, Niccolò pushed up against the door frame and Marti's hands up under his t-shirt, but they make it to the kitchen eventually.

 

**The End**


End file.
